


Tactical Retreats

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: The Bournshire Boys [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Chantry Boys, Childhood Frenemies, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, Frenemies, Templar Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>14-year-old Alistair tries to improve his life, with mixed results. Cheese and Cullen are both involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late for Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This story occurs in late 9:24 Dragon.
> 
> Read Welcome to Bournshire first for Cullen and Alistair's first meeting, it might help with context.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Cullen are very different people. Can they get along?

A few months later, Alistair woke to the sound of Cullen opening and closing the dorm door on his way out to the privy. That early-riser was always quiet when he first woke up, but nothing could erase Alistair’s sensitivity to the sound of the door, due to certain incidents that shall go unnamed. Shaving cream is hard to get out of ... everything. 

He tossed to his side, trying to get back to sleep. The air was getting chillier every day, and he’d gotten more sleep in the longer nights than he had all summer. His brain, unfettered, started reviewing other changes: colors were becoming duller, frost was forming on his window each morning. Their window. His new roommate hadn’t left yet. He tossed to his other side, then finally gave up sleeping again as a lost cause. Alistair rolled out of bed in yesterday’s tunic and ambled to his desk to finish the lines he owed Sister Moyra. Again. 

Alistair looked up as Cullen returned, also in a tunic. “You’re up!” He didn’t try to suppress his surprise. 

Alistair smiled the most affable smile at his disposal this early. “Well, you are certainly MOTO, Master of the Obvious, this morning.” 

“Sorry about that,” Cullen surprised Alistair once again with his tolerance for verbal antics. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning! In answer to the unspoken question, I decided I’d better finish up these lines Sister Moyra gave me, else she might skin me alive in class today.” 

“Hmm, that might be an interesting demonstration of the process.” 

Alistair blinked, once, and stared. “Cullen, did you just – you didn’t just crack a joke, did you?” 

Cullen looked ashamed of himself. “Sorry, it was in bad taste, wasn’t it?” Not the result Alistair was after! 

“No! It was brilliant! Okay, objectively, yes, it was in bad taste, but jokes don’t work if they’re not at least a little off-color! You cracked an honest-to-Maker joke! We should celebrate!” 

Cullen was laughing as he pulled on fresh clothes. “I don’t know that this constitutes an occasion.” 

Alistair tried his serious face. “Any excuse to celebrate, Cullen.” 

Cullen was vulnerable to the serious face. Good to know. “Alright, how shall we celebrate?” Maybe this getting-up-early thing could be good, after all. 

Alistair’s mind streamed backwards and forwards, between possibilities and methods for getting away with them. Some plans he had to reject out of hand, because Cullen would thwart them himself. He didn’t hesitate to criticize Alistair’s classroom antics. Maker knew how he’d respond to actual hijinks. “I don’t know yet. Let me see what I can come up with.” 

Then Cullen had to spoil it, just a little, as he fussed with his short, unruly hair in the mirror. “Anyway, I can’t really blame her. Why do you egg her on like that?” 

Alistair shrugged, turning back to his lines. “Because she’s there?” 

When he glanced back, Cullen looked confused, or worried, or stressed, or something. 

“Look, I have a game, okay.” He wasn’t planning to tell anyone this, ever, but suddenly Alistair was panicking. 

“A game?” 

This wasn’t even helping, but he couldn’t think of any way to go back in time, just a few minutes. “Yeah, a game. It’s harmless!” Alistair reassured quickly as Cullen took a breath. “I’m trying to get every Chantry Sister in the place to laugh, at least once. I’ve gotten most of them. Sister Moyra is my personal challenge.” Alistair was surprised by his own determination. 

Cullen frowned disapprovingly as he pulled on socks and boots. “There’s no way that’s going to go well for you.” 

“What, you doubt I can do it?” Alistair puffed himself up. 

“Maybe, but what happens when you succeed?” 

Alistair deflated. “Kitchen duty, most likely.” 

“And what have you been getting just for trying?” 

Alistair sighed and glanced at his lines. 

“Why do you do this?” 

“I refuse to admit defeat!” 

Cullen had finished getting ready for the day. “It’s not defeat, Alistair, it’s self-preservation. A tactical retreat.” Alistair realized that he was tired of tactical retreats. “You should hurry to breakfast!” Cullen called as he headed out the door, “The food is going to be cold.” 

Cullen left too quickly to hear Alistair’s response. “It always is.” 

\---

Alistair decided as he wolfed down breakfast that one of the reasons he liked cheese so much was that it still tasted good at room temperature. Portable, too, he reminded himself as he grabbed what was left to take to class. Too bad it was still that same farmer’s cheese. What he wouldn’t give for a good - 

That was it! The solution he’d been worrying about all the way through his morning routine. Alistair could arrange for some really good cheese to celebrate Cullen’s joke, then they would remember that, not the other part. 

As he scurried to class, the 14-year-old wondered how he was going to pull this off. He slowed his scurry. Maybe the best way to start would be to get sent to the kitchens for some sort of mischief, and probe his connections there. He stopped. I wonder where I could get a small tin of grease this time of day? Alistair smiled and sprinted at a right angle to his original path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Alistair deals in contraband. The first time. 
> 
> Also, does Cullen hate fancy cheese?


	2. The Great Rochebaron Caper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair has come up with the perfect way to celebrate, but will Cullen like it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a few weeks after Late for Everything. Shipments from Orlais take a while, even if you know people. 
> 
> Alistair is 14, and Cullen is 13.
> 
> After I wrote this, I realized that it has some accidental food smut. *shrugs* Neither of the boys cued in, so I left it.

Several weeks later, Alistair chose a seat at the back and sung the Chant with everyone else, impatiently starting each note just a half-beat too early to try and speed the whole thing along. It didn’t seem to help. He barely waited for the final notes to be sung before taking off for the kitchens.

The package had arrived.

In the middle of the gleaming, quiet, anomalous kitchen, Chef Francine stood next to the counter, which had a single, round object set just to one side. Alistair gasped, and Chef Francine looked up suddenly, joy and wonder shining in her eyes. “I’m really glad you asked me to do this.” She gestured expansively at the small item.

Alistair shrugged, but grinned too. “You’re the only person here with the clout and motivation to procure this substance.”

Chef smiled and got out the knife. “I thought you might want to be here when I split it.”

Alistair nodded, swallowing in anticipation. Chef cut into the dark grey crust of the object, cutting it neatly in half. A previously faint scent filled the room, bringing a moan of appreciation to both their lips. Suddenly, he was six again, giggling with Teagan (Isn’t he supposed to act grown up? This is awesome!) as they broke into Isolde’s cheese stash. The cheese was cream-colored inside, with a few open pockets of grey-blue. “It’s the genuine article,” Alistair breathed. The very center of the cheese started to run a little.

Chef carefully wrapped each piece in heavy, brown waxed paper, but hesitated before handing over Alistair’s half. “You’ll do your part?”

“I still have the prune juice concentrate, and I’ll make sure Leolin knows it’s me. I’ll be scrubbing pots in no time.” Alistair glanced ruefully at the sink.

Chef smiled as she handed him a little over half a pound of fine Orlesian cheese. “You keep my staff happy, and not just because they have less work to do when you help out.” She tossed him a wink and sauntered almost drunkenly through the door that led out the back of the building. For the first time, Alistair wondered where she slept. He had always sort of assumed she had a cot stashed somewhere so she could sleep in the kitchen. As she left, she cooed softly to the cheese cradled in her arms. Alistair shook his head, smiling, collected a few things, and wandered happily his own way.

\- -

“Man, Cullen, what is that smell coming from your room? Haven’t you learned where to put your dirty laundry yet?”

Cullen smiled at Drystan’s gentle ribbing as they passed in the hall. Chant was over, and Cullen was participating in the usual bedtime chaos before lights out. “I have. Maybe you should ask my roommate.” Woops, Alistair wasn’t out here to defend himself. However, he didn’t have much defense anyway. Laundry was not one of the things that kid kept up on. Although this particular smell of dead socks was … above and beyond, even for him.

Cullen opened his door, and the stench redoubled. It took all of the templar focus he had developed so far to keep from reeling. And there sat Alistair, on his bed, with a grin plastered to his face. “What are you up to?”

“Shh! Close the door!” Alistair was perfectly pleased with himself over something.

“I’m not sure I can stand the stink if we don’t air the place out a little.” But Cullen closed the door. “Okay, what is it?”

“Wait till you see it.” Alistair was usually not excited, which had been hard to spot under the mask of the wise-cracking miscreant. Now, Alistair bounced as he sprawled out on his bed so that he could stick his head under it. He brought out a simple plate with a brown-wrapped half-moon and a dull knife. “You won’t believe this. Didn’t I say I’d think of something? I can’t believe I pulled this off.” The boy was positively gleeful.

“What are you talking about?” Cullen was painfully curious about what was so wonderful, but he didn’t know anything about it, so he couldn’t share the excitement. Yet.

“The celebration, remember? Of your joke?” When Cullen’s confused look was unwavering, Alistair explained: “A few weeks ago. You cracked a joke. I said we should celebrate. This – this is what I came up with.” Alistair seemed dispirited that Cullen had forgotten.

“Oh,” said Cullen, still trying to understand so he could be excited, too. “What was the joke?”

Alistair looked startled, then pensive. “I … don’t remember.”

Cullen chuckled. “It couldn’t have been very good, then. Alright, how are we celebrating?”

Alistair smiled again. He quickly unwrapped the half-moon. Cullen nearly gagged. “Rochebaron!” Alistair picked up the knife and flourished it in the direction of the disgusting odor.

“Oh,” Cullen tried. Alistair looked vaguely horrified. Cullen tried again. “Good?”

“Yes, very good. Wait till you taste it! This was not easy to get, you know.”

The outer part of this – cheese? Cullen supposed? – looked like a scratched, pitted, mottled grey rock. The inside was a little better. It had an appealing, creamy color, but it was sort of oozing malevolently. The irregular shape was nothing like the cheese Cullen knew. If this cheese were a face, it would be pock-marked, twisted, and unshaven. “Wait, Alistair, it’s moldy! We can’t eat that.”

“Of course it’s moldy, it’s cheese! Those are its blue veins.” Ah, veined, not unshaven. Much better. “It’s supposed to be like that,” Alistair reassured him as he cut off an oozing slice. “Don’t worry, it’s not as strong as other blues you may have heard about. Here, try it!”

Cullen had never had occasion to talk to anyone in any depth about cheese, so he was not reassured. “Alistair, is this one of your jokes? I’m not falling for it. There’s no way you’re supposed to eat that!”

“What? No! This is not a joke. This is high-quality cheese. Look, I was going to let you have the first bite, since it’s your celebration, but if it makes you feel better I’ll eat some.”

Cullen waited.

Alistair didn’t so much pick up the slice as get the middle part all over his fingers. “Should have gotten bread or something,” he muttered. When he shoved most of the glob in his mouth, a look of total bliss enveloped his features. He sank back onto his pillow, actually moaning a little as he licked his fingers clean.

Even Alistair wasn’t that good of an actor.

“What does it taste like?”

“It’s creamy, and of course the blue flavor is there, but not overwhelming. I’m detecting notes of salt, cedar, … cellar, and … yes, mushroom.”

Cullen didn’t know what blue flavor was, and he wasn’t sure what cellar would taste like, but the rest of it didn’t seem that bad. “Alright, I’ll try it!” Cullen lifted the knife, filling with trepidation. What if he hated it?

“Wait!” Alistair dove for the plate, snatched up the slice’s rind, which had fallen off the soft cheese, and popped it in his mouth. He seemed overcome at this point, and just disappeared into the experience. “So good...”

Cullen took a breath. This has got to be the strangest thing I’ve tried to eat. He used the knife to separate a reasonable chunk from the rest of the half-wheel, then wiped it onto his first two fingers. As he lifted it, he made the mistake of inhaling. Dead-feet-smell caught in the back of his throat, and he gagged involuntarily.

“Oh, yeah, it doesn’t smell great. Don’t inhale until it’s in your mouth.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Sorry.”

Okay, trying this again. Cullen took a deep breath away from the ooze, then shoved the fingers into his mouth, getting all of the cheese the first try.

When Cullen had estimated a more reasonable size for his piece of cheese, he had been thinking about how much he could pick up, not how much of this strange substance would be in his mouth. Now, the blob filled and coated his mouth. And there was flavor! The creaminess was there, for sure, but it blended with the texture until it was just a familiar taste making the other parts of the flavor even weirder. Cullen gagged, but managed not to cough it out. I will swallow this. He didn’t know how Alistair had identified all of those notes. To Cullen’s palate, the flavor was a cacophony.

Cullen choked it down, clearing as much as he could from the roof of his mouth without anything to drink on hand. He opened eyes he hadn’t realized were clenched shut to see Alistair’s crestfallen face. “You hate it.”

One look at that face combined with years of training. “I can’t say yet,” he replied. “My mom made all of the Rutherford children members of the Two-Bites Club.” Determined to throw himself on his cheese knife if necessary, Cullen separated a second, much smaller, chunk of cheese from the rest of the mass.

Alistair looked surprised. “The what, now?”

Cullen looked grimly at the laden knife, then transferred the morsel to his finger. “The Two-Bites Club. Any time you try something new, you have to have two bites before you can decide whether or not you hate it.”

“Wait, that doesn’t make any sense. One bite should be enough, right?”

“I have found that the second bite definitely tastes different from the first, for anything new I try. Not always better, but different.” Cullen remembered not to inhale before he stuck the second bite in his mouth.

This time, Cullen could separate the flavor from the smell of the cheese. The texture was a lot better, too, now that it wasn’t threatening to choke him. “Wait, how does the smell actually make this cheese better?” Cullen wondered aloud around the goop. He ignored Alistair’s laughter as he tried to analyze the flavor. The first thing he managed to identify was cellar. It was like the smell you find in the farthest corner of a damp, underused, stone cellar with a slight mildew problem. Except it was a flavor. Cullen identified the mushroom next, just as the mineral qualities of “cellar” began to fade, leaving an earthiness behind. The cheese was subtly salty, but that was fading already, too. Cullen swallowed his second bite.

“Well?” Alistair was on pins and needles, all but begging Cullen for approval of his favorite food.

Cullen reviewed the experience, and realized he didn’t totally hate the cheese. He was also curious to see if he could identify other notes. What else had Alistair said? Cedar? He hadn’t tasted anything like that, either time. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to have another bite to be sure.” He smiled.

Alistair laughed. “Alright, but my turn next!” Cullen relinquished the cheese knife.

\---

Drystan knocked on Cullen’s door. It was strange that Cullen wasn’t on his way to the baths already. Drystan always enjoyed having Cullen around, for the camaraderie. He gave an extra spark to all of their conversations, and an extra bite to any insults Leolin might require.

Cullen answered the door, opening it narrowly. That was weird. What, was Alistair naked in there or something? “Hey Drystan, what’s up?” Also, what was that smell? It had covered the subtle scents of embrium incense and new snow, and reached to the end of the barracks hall.

Drystan grinned. “I was just wondering if you were going to make it to baths tonight. Or is there something better in here?”

Suddenly, Farris piled practically on top of Drystan. “What’s going on in here?”

Sieffre piled onto Farris’ other shoulder almost immediately. They must have been walking together. “Something’s going on? Let’s see, open up, Cullen!”

Drystan laughed and joined in their clowning. Between the three of them, they tumbled into the room, past Cullen’s protestations, just as Alistair was covering something on the bed. He was dressed. Relief: that would have been embarrassing.

Sieffre grinned in the middle of the stone-and-wood room. The whole barracks was like a very long, stone hallway, with wooden partitions separating pairs of roommates from each other. Like horse stalls. The only evidence that the rooms were originally meant to be so narrow was that each room had its own tiny window. Candles turned the frosted glass into a mirror. “You should really clean in here. Do you know your room stinks?” the grinning boy spun to address Cullen.

“Let’s see, what’s that?” Farris asked, dived for the object on the bed: a plate covered loosely with brown paper. The paper fell away, and the three boys stood staring at the strangest – food? – Drystan had seen since trying haggis back home near the Crossroads.

“What is that?” he demanded.

“Is that what smells so bad in here?” Farris reasonably inquired.

“It’s beautiful,” Sieffre breathed. Everyone turned to look at him. “What? My parents were stationed in Orlais for a year-and-a-half. I know a Rochebaron when I see one.”

Cullen glanced at Alistair, who shrugged. Drystan felt a twinge. Why did Cullen even need Alistair’s approval? It’s not like Alistair was a part of this group. Cullen offered everyone a seat. Drystan joined Cullen on his bed, and Sieffre and Farris took the other. Alistair used the crowding as an excuse to stand next to the door, but he could have sat on his own bed, really. There was plenty of room.

Cullen graciously offered his cheese to them. Farris disappeared briefly to dig up some spoons. He could only find four, but Alistair said he didn’t need one. Sieffre went first. His eyes rolled back in his head as he ate the gooey center, eschewing the dark rind. “It’s been so long since I’ve had this, I’d almost forgotten…”

“Yeah, well, in my extremely limited experience, it takes some getting used to.” Cullen was warning the rest of them, but Alistair kind of snorted from the doorway. He was like some sort of reverse bouncer, looming over the exit of a cool place to be.

Farris tried it, and made a face. “Getting used to!”

Cullen offered the plate again. “Try another bite, it might be better.” Farris waved it on, saying that Drystan hadn’t had a turn. Great.

“I don’t know.” From where he was sitting he could see both roommates. Cullen was holding the plate, looking encouraging but cautioning again that it was an acquired taste. Alistair was standing over all of them, smiling but not in a nice way. This smile was creepy, judgmental. Insincere.

“I dare you,” the red-head said, almost musing to himself. Drystan didn’t know if anyone else even heard him, but suddenly Drystan knew he would. It could smell like death – it did smell a bit like death, actually – but he would still try the Fade-blasted cheese. Drystan held his breath, scooped a bit more than either of the others had so far, and ate it. Years later, Drystan could not remember exactly what the cheese tasted like, but he could still remember that it was an assault on his abilities to taste and smell. And yet … and yet, it seemed that his senses were sharper for it. He took another bite. Acquired taste, indeed. Then he asked Cullen what the rind was like.

At this point, Alistair began explaining the rind, even though the question wasn’t directed at him. It was made of ashes, edible ones. He warned them that the flavor was very strong. One by one, they tried the rind, even Cullen. Apparently they hadn’t gotten that far. When Drystan tried it, he decided to stick with the cheese itself. Alistair stayed by the door, all frozen smile and snark.

How did it start? Cullen mentioned that the cheeses in the Honnleath area are either fresh or very, very hard. Farris, of course: That’s what she said. He was always saying that, though the sisters eventually got him to stop. Thank the Maker.

Then Farris asked where is this cheese from? Cullen: Alistair got it. Alistair shifted uncomfortably by the door. Drystan opened his mouth. What came out was, “Why? Is he trying to ply you with exotic cheeses for some sort of nefarious purpose?” He tried to keep his tone jovial, but it had a sharpness. It was satisfying anyway: he was the only one to see Alistair slip out the door.

After a moment, Cullen tried to change the subject, or get back on subject, maybe. “Hey, Alistair, where did you get the cheese?” But Alistair was already gone.

Then Drystan said, “What the Void is his problem?” He felt vindicated as all of his friends muttered their bewilderment, and Cullen offered some excuse. Good riddance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Alistair tries -again- to get Sister Moyra to laugh. 
> 
> Drystan does not yet understand himself fully. To me, he's is not a bad person, but we all have something we did to someone as a teen that we spend years regretting. I will resolve this in Circle Pranks. 
> 
> Poor Alistair, forced to either share his cheese with these uninvited guests or look like the asshole.


End file.
